


That Rushing Blood

by night_reveals



Category: Incredible Hulk (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Violence, Post Avengers (Movie), Psychological Torture, Science Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/pseuds/night_reveals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The farther into the world Bruce allowed himself to be drawn, the greater the danger to everyone. That had been proven before, so far beyond doubt that Bruce wanted to anoint it a scientific law and have done with it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Rushing Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Benga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benga/gifts).



> Written in exchange for a donation to the [IWRC through teamwolfcares](http://teamwolfcares.tumblr.com)!
> 
> A huge thank-you goes out to **eternalsojourn** and **krytella** , who beta'ed this into coherency, and another huge thank you to **BENGA** for being so kind about me being bad at deadlines. I really hope this turned out to be something like you wanted. 
> 
>    
>  **[This mixes the Avengers movie canon with some Hulk comics canon. If you know that in the comics General Thaddeus Ross and Glenn Talbot were both at one time or another obsessed with catching the Hulk, you should be fine.]**

 

Being a man of science, Bruce endeavored never to make the same mistake twice.

Furtive but trying not to appear it, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the twinjet plane behind him. No one seemed to be following him; indeed, no one seemed to even pay him a half-glance as he made his way out of the airport into the bustling crowds of Iloilo. Under an assumed name he checked into a tiny hostel on the outskirts of the city, hefting his brown bag onto the bed he had rented for a single night. The hostel owners had not eyed him any longer than other customers, and the rest of the room was vacant, the other occupants presumably out in the city exploring like tourists should. Still, Bruce fought back unease. If SHIELD had tracked him halfway around the world once, they could do it again. He'd taken more precautions this time: he'd paid a shipping captain to smuggle him around the horn of Africa, used cash exclusively in all of his dealings, avoided Europe and its sprawling bureaucracy like the plague, and checked his email from a virtual private network that randomized his location.

The whole time Bruce told himself that this wasn't running from what life had turned into after the Attack, but he was a man of science. Others' lies didn't hold up under the relentless scrutiny of his own mind, and his own were no different.

  


##

  


Out of all the Avengers, Bruce had it the easiest after the Attack. It was a strange thing to realize and acknowledge, but it was the truth.

Just a week after Loki was taken prisoner, Hawkeye resigned. It was probably rude to speculate on the man's reasons for leaving, but Bruce remembered the dozens of funerals Hawkeye had attended for members of SHIELD, where the children and husbands and wives of the dead must have gathered and sobbed. It was irrational to feel guilt over things you couldn't control, over the times when your body rebelled against you, whether from the inside-out or the outside-in, but that had never stopped Bruce from feeling guilty before. Obviously it hadn't stopped Hawkeye, either, and he'd disappeared into the ether much like Bruce wished he could. The Black Widow — Natasha, she'd demanded Bruce call her — followed close behind Hawkeye with a promise to return along with "Clint, that ass."

As far as Bruce knew, they were still missing.

The others were no better. Thor had yet to reappear and apprise anyone of the going-ons in Asgardian politics, and Director Fury too was entangled with powers far beyond Bruce's security clearance. It didn't take a genius to realize that the bomb that had been meant for New York City had originated from somewhere — that someone besides the Director had made that abysmal call, and that his bucking of that decision had earned him censure. It was one of the many things Bruce didn't want to know about, though, and he studiously ignored it. The farther into the world Bruce allowed himself to be drawn, the greater the danger to everyone. That had been proven before, so far beyond doubt that Bruce wanted to anoint it a scientific law and have done with it.

Electricity and television were rarer in the parts of the world that Bruce traveled, but still he glimpsed Captain America's face on the cramped sets he found himself watching in backwater airports, the staid air churned by overhead fans. Stark sometimes stood beside the Captain, but being sued for 43 billion dollars for damaging city buildings rather busied him — though he'd carved time away from Congress for Bruce. Meanwhile the Captain's shocking very-much-aliveness seemed to be useful for raising money towards cleanup, though he looked awkward and out of his element the whole time.

When self-pity overcame Bruce's sense of survival and self-respect, he'd wondered if he could have done anything to help after Harlem and his own terrifying romp through the City. These thoughts led to dreams of the Other Guy, dreams that Bruce could never control.

_-"And we know you're so sorry," the show host was saying, his overly-coiffed hair shiny under the bright lights. Next to him was a ticker that counted donations, but instead of going up it was going down: negative 3.2 million and counting. "You rage-monster — "_

_The Other Guy tore the man's head off, blood gushing everywhere as the studio audience gasped and screamed —_

The metallic taste was hot in Bruce's mouth as he shot up out of his bed.

Eyes darting everywhere, he found his brown pack on the ground, the moonlight from a nearby window slanting in. Nearby the two other beds were taken, one sleeping man and one sleeping woman; Bruce had to keep it together, for their sake. Heart racing, he pushed at the sweat-soaked sheets he was entangled in, swallowing dryly as he tried to clear the memory of blood from his mouth, his throat, his eyes. Panic could so easily wash away the walls that Bruce kept up against the anger that thrummed at the very center of his being: anger at his weakness, his lot in life, his inabilities. Long ago he'd learned that a single crack in his defenses could mean not a trickle of anger but a gush of it, like a fetid wound that needed constant lancing. It was better to leave the wound alone than poke at it, for there was no healing left to Bruce, much less the Other Guy.

A snore from the sleeping man stirred Bruce from his reverie.

The off-white sheets from Bruce's cot lay in a sodden heap on the floor, and he sighed. The night was warm and the simple overhead fans barely circulated the air in the stifled room, but still he preferred to sleep covered. Resigning himself to finding another sheet, he slipped into sandals and ran a hand through his ear-length hair. He'd been moving on the run for five months now, most of that time spent between tiny towns along rural coasts in rundown local buses.

Bruce didn't believe in signs of any kind. His nightmare hadn't been trying to tell him anything. Still, he knew sleep was a lost cause, and judging from the very beginnings of pink on the horizon, it was almost five AM regardless.

On his feet and stretching briefly before making his quick nocturnal sojourn, he heard scuffling down the hallway, the shuffle-patter of sleepy feet.

Adrenaline spiked in him and he breathed deeply twice to calm himself, bending to grab his satchel right before the door to the room swept inwards, the hinges creaking out their discontent.

A weak light limned the manager standing in the doorway in his boxers and glaring.

"You," he whispered, before jerking a thumb behind himself. "Phone."

Bruce's stomach flipped. A phone call in the middle of the night from _whom_? As he followed the manager of the hostel down the cramped hallway, a memory flashed in his mind of a night in Calcutta, when he'd followed a little girl into a trap.

They'd found him again.

Bruce sighed at the landline the manager thrust in his face, but took it regardless. It was highly unlikely this man had played a large part in SHIELD's manipulation, after all.

Dispensing with pleasantries, Bruce cut to the point. "What do you want?"

"I need you here." The woman's voice took only a moment to place, but it was not who he was expecting.

" _You_ need me, Ms. Potts?" Bruce carefully avoided her first name. The months he'd lived at Stark Tower, Pepper had always been unendingly kind to him. He had no such fond memories of Ms. Potts.

"Yes," replied Ms. Potts, uncharacteristically terse.

"Stark has billions of dollars and enough tech to solve virtually any problem that washes up on his front door. Tell him if he wants my help for something the least he could do is allow me the illusion of privacy."

Ms. Potts sighed over the line. Even Stark's satellites couldn't lessen the effect of thousands of miles between them, and the ancient phone in his hand crackled.

"You don't understand, Dr. Banner. I need you. Tony needs you. Now."

"Why? Is he bored again?" Bruce tried not to let bitterness crowd his tone, but he knew he failed. Ms. Potts didn't comment on it, a small blessing.

"I can't talk about it on this phone. Suffice to say that this is not a secure line."

Shaking his head even though she couldn't see, Bruce said, "Well then, Ms. Potts, I have to decli — "

"You tracked Loki, right?" she interrupted, the second uncharacteristic thing she'd done so far. Bruce frowned and put his fingers to his brow, massaging the area. A headache was coming on, blossoming at the back of his right ear like a moon flower.

"Yes. Ton — Stark and I did."

"Following what clues? Gamma radiation, yes?"

"Yes, but what does this have to do — "

"Could you track palladium radiation?"

Silence reigned.

"What." Bruce rose from his seat outside the dinky manager's office, the metal scraping along the concrete floor as he did. "Are you saying what I think you're saying."

"Can you, or can you not?" asked Ms. Potts in the voice that she used for errant investors and over-reaching bankers.

"I can. But how do you know he's not flying around?" His voice came out more patronizing than he'd intended.

"He's not ‘flying around’." To her credit, Ms. Potts only sounded mildly murderous instead of apoplectic, as Bruce had expected after that jab. Then, "There's been trouble."

"Trouble?" Bruce tipped his head forward to stare at the ground. Matted hair followed the movement, swinging along his cheeks. "And what sort of trouble could he have gotten into that SHIELD can't get him out of? I've only been gone five months."

"I need you on a plane to New York before I can explain."

"Then the answer is 'no.'"

Ms. Potts took a breath, a sharp inhale that Bruce recognized from his times playing cards on the streetcorner to pass slow days. It was the sound of someone going all in: chips in a pile and cards on the table. In response Bruce took his own steadying breath, holding steadfastly to his memories. (He'd thought he could handle sharp objects — Stark had proved him wrong). The sharp, bitter stab of betrayal had dulled over the months, becoming a throbbing abscess in Bruce's chest, but the pain still came when called.

"What do you want most in the world, Dr. Banner?"

"You know what I want. To be left alone." It was such an old refrain that the words slipped from Bruce's mouth without him even giving the go-ahead. He didn't think about their truth. Some things became true by virtue of long-existence.

"You want to be able to disappear like Natasha and Clint can."

"If you haven't noticed, I don't share their skill sets."

"Money can buy many things, Dr. Banner. This is one of them. I can keep you off SHIELD's radar — any radar — for the rest of my natural life." Ms. Potts sighed. "If you come in."

"I'll have everything I need to work?" Once Bruce would have been excited at the prospect of being let loose in Tony Stark's personal toyland. That time was long past.

"Of course," Ms. Potts replied briskly. "Not much has changed. You'll know your way around."

One last favor for Tony Stark — who surely had simply let time get away from him in some unknown corner of the world — in exchange for a lifetime of peace. All Bruce would have to do was go to New York, rig up a search mechanism, and dig the man out of whatever hole had swallowed him.

Then Bruce would be alone again.

"Fine," he answered. "I'll come in."

  


##

  


Tony knew what he was smelling.

The first few days he'd been kept in a pristine white cell. The light never varied, a piercing shaft from the ground that bounced around the walls, which appeared to be steel. Tony was a bug stuck in the prism. At six by six by six, the cell was barely big enough for him to lay down in with his arms outstretched. He'd swept it a dozen times to no avail: cameras had to be watching him, yet he could find absolutely no trace of them, and his meals came in through a slot no bigger than a mailbox hole at such random times that Tony could never predict their arrival.

He had begun to lose track of time after, he estimated, roughly twenty hours. Or they had simply sent him lunch and then dinner within an hour of each other as a mind-fuck. Not that lunch looked any different from dinner — all soft foods, no silverware, useless styrofoam containers. The blue-glow of the vibranium in his chest had never had a down-side, before, but Tony caught himself missing his palladium arc reactor for the first time. At least with the palladium he would have known just how long he'd been captive, able to count his death to the hour.

His new arc reactor carried no such guarantee, too stable for its own good.

Besides his reactor, the buzzing drone in the background was his only companion, a never-ending accompaniment to his workouts. No pattern dictated the noise — it was as if Tony were listening to an AM radio from very far away, one whose dial constantly turned of its own accord. It sunk into his thoughts, scrambling them, white noise, dark noise, yellow noise, noise, noise, noise.

Naps came, his body shutting down.

He dreamt, the ceiling fell, he died, he woke.

A part of Tony, one that so far had survived intact only by secreting itself away, a hidden portion of his soul or his heart or his mind, knew what was happening to him. "Enhanced interrogation," the CIA had called it after September 11th. Tony was more acquainted with fists on his face, knives held to his sternum, and spittle-ridden threats: actual torture. He could say, with a maudlin grin, that after the two three four days he'd spent here — wherever 'here' was — that he most definitely preferred the latter.

Or perhaps that was the lack of sleep talking.

And so he pissed in a corner and awoke from his fevered naps to find the puddles gone. He slept, or tried. He weathered it as well as he could, and told himself that he would know on sight who his captors were.

No one came, though. Not after the first day, when Tony could still trust his ability to count seconds. Not after the second third fourth fifth day, either. It was just him and the light and the noise and the cramped room and the soft, soft food and the too-low ceiling — what was "enhanced interrogation" when there was no interrogation? Had he been kidnapped only to languish here, SHIELD too busy fighting for survival amongst the wilds of bureaucracy to save him, Pepper still too angry at him for ruining his one friendship and then leaving her to deal with the shitstorm that was post-Attack clean up?

There was no goal to work toward, here, no machine to buy his freedom with or evil man to flatter into foolish acts.

So Tony huddled by the mailbox slot, hour after hour, refusing to move. Eventually it opened to let in food along with a gust of air, and Tony breathed in as deeply as he could.

It was the tiniest victory, but still he smiled.

Tony knew that smell.

  


##

  


Stunned, his chest aching and his mouth hanging open, Bruce blinked back his emotions.

"Why haven't you gone to SHIELD with this?" he croaked. He'd had no sleep since Ilio, but he didn't need any, or more accurately couldn't afford any. Work had to begin now.

"I tried." Ensconced behind her elegant maple desk, Ms. Potts was perfectly put-together, nevermind that it was two in the morning. That was until she lifted a shaking hand to her temple, her shuddering breaths shaking loose her CEO persona until only Pepper was left. "I tried," she said again. "I sent an aide to Fury's office, but the SHIELD headquarters are just gone, like they never existed in the first place. There's a restaurant and apartments instead. My aide came back and quit on the spot. Whoever took Tony knew that I'd try, they got to my aide, scared her away. Before I would have — I would have called Phil, Phil Coulson, but."

Bruce shook his head somberly. "Everyone else?"

"Natasha's number isn't working anymore, even her civilian one, and you know she's been chasing Clint for months now. Fury is God-knows where, same for the lightning-guy."

"Thor," filled in Bruce automatically, mind racing. "The Captain?"

"Doing press everywhere but here. There's no way for me to get him a secure message."

"But you contacted me?" Bruce asked, legitimately confused.

"You're literally the only person in the world who I knew could help me find Tony.”

"How did you even find me?" Bruce asked, itching to figure that out. "Clint and Natasha I can understand being difficult to track, but if you can't find Fury, how did you know where I was?"

Pepper dropped her eyes to her desk and ran a hand over the papers sitting on top of it. "After you and Tony's," she gestured with a hand in an all-encompassing sweep, "argument, he didn't stop caring about you, whatever you think. He was tracking you this whole time."

"'Caring.'" Bruce shook his head, more sad than angry for once. "For me, or for the Other Guy?"

"For you, Bruce. All of it was for you, even if you can't see that."

"Don't — " Bruce stood abruptly from his chair, fisting his hands. Pepper looked scared, and Bruce sternly schooled his features back to placidity. "Don't think you can excuse him to me, Pepper. I'll do this because the world needs Iron Man and because I don't want anyone dead, but that's it. I'll help you as much as I can, but after that, I'm gone."

"Okay, Bruce," she said in a small voice, her eyes wide. At once Bruce realized she wasn't scared for what he would do to her, but what would happen if he refused to offer his help. She was scared for Tony.

Shame came over Bruce immediately, and he sat gingerly.

"So. Tell me what you know."

 

Booby traps littered Stark Tower.

They weren't a danger to anyone save Bruce. They weren't even physical. But Bruce couldn't turn a corner without wincing, couldn't walk certain hallways without contrasting waves of fondness and annoyance buffeting him, overwhelming remembrances. They latched on and dragged him away from the present, a swirling mish-mash of their times together.

The four months that Bruce lived here after Loki's attacks shouldn't have left such an indelible imprint on him. He should be able to walk freely here without seeing ghosts or hearing the echoes of conversations, arguments.

For all of the months Bruce had spent traveling, he'd trained himself into referring to Tony as Stark or Mr. Stark or “that asshole”, but only a few minutes spent in Tony's home had him reverting to his old ways.

For the dozenth time that morning, Bruce shook his head to clear it.

"How are you going to do it?" Pepper asked from the room's doorway. A huge space spread out between them, banks of computers on the side and arrays of controls for satellites, systems, and scientific outposts around the world taking up half of the floor. Bruce carefully didn't look at the east side, where a ten by ten door opened to a relatively small space. He'd only seen it once before; he had no need to see it again.

"When Tony recreated vibranium from his father's plans and used it to power his arc reactor, he ceased using palladium."

"Oh," Pepper took a small step forward into the room, her face creasing with worry. She was dressed for work, though the sun hadn't fully risen yet. "I had assumed you could still track him using it. I wasn't wrong...?"

"No." Standing in front of the head computer, Bruce began the process of getting everything into the order he liked. Tony would be spitting mad by now. He hated the way Bruce organized information, always going into Bruce's files and "cleaning them up" — the one time Bruce had decided to return the favor, he'd stumbled across the secret that had shattered them. It wasn't a fond memory, and a bitter frown twisted his face.

"Well then," said Pepper in rebuke, waving Bruce on. "How will you do it?"

"Sorry, sorry." Bruce turned to Pepper, filling his eyes with her in the hopes that no more ghosts would intrude. "Palladium has multiple isotopes, but before Tony switched to vibranium he used radioisotope 103, the same one used in certain cancer treatments. In that form it has a halflife of 16.99 days and decays by electron capture into the single stable isotope of rhodium, 103. A by-product of that rhodium is gamma radiation."

"Which," said Pepper, "you can track?"

"Theoretically? Yes."

"So Tony's been walking around with gamma radiation rolling around inside of him."

Bruce snapped his head up to stare at Pepper. He'd taken pains to avoid make his explanation too difficult, but he still hadn't thought she'd understand any of it. So few people did. "He has," Bruce said. "It's a byproduct of palladium that he'll never be rid of, just like the palladium itself. Its half-life is relatively short but that doesn't mean it will ever disappear. He's in good company, of course. I'll never be rid of gamma radiation, either. It's not necessarily harmful." Bruce carefully didn't promise that it wasn't harmful to Tony; in fact, it certainly was, having sat so close to his heart for so long. There was no need to upset Pepper with that, though.

"He can't suck it out? Or...or something. Shut it down."

Thoughtlessly, Bruce's gaze slid to the ten by ten metal door across the room. Had Tony really hidden that part of the plan from her? Had he put Pepper in danger with his own hubris? Bruce swallowed down anger.

"I — he was working on manipulating gamma radiation when I left. You'll have to ask him after you get him back." Bruce's voice came out harsher than he meant, but he couldn't summon an apology. He turned back to his computers, burrowing into himself and his data.

Jarvis was only too happy to help him figure out anything about Tony's gamma radiation levels, and the vibranium's decay product of radioactive isotopes too would give him workable data. When he turned back to the room at large, Pepper was long gone.

She left only memories in her wake.

  


##

  


The table Tony sat at and the chair he sat on were crafted from a styrofoam-like material that crumbled under any sharp pressure.

Tony had to give props where they were due: that was dedication to keeping weapons out of his hands.

Hungry to see anything but the inside of his cell, even if it was a different featureless room belonging to his captors, Tony carefully watched everything. The man who'd taken him from his cell walked back in. It went against everything in Tony's DNA and life experience to keep his mouth shut, but he managed it by biting hard on his own tongue. The years Tony had spent servicing military contracts hadn't left him completely unaware of interrogation tactics, and his years spent dodging boardroom politics hadn't made him ignorant of power plays — though he still wasn't the best at them.

What could he say? Rules, especially political ones, really weren't his thing.

The man who returned to the room was tall and wiry, the cut of his hair and his pressed but boxy suit screaming "military intelligence" so loudly that it was as if he'd walked out of a children's toy shop: G.I. Joe personified. Biting back his sarcastic remark, Tony leveled a cool look at the man.

"I'm impressed," was the first thing out of G.I. Joe's mouth.

"I'm impressive," rebutted Tony, unable to hold his tongue.

A smirk was his answer. The guy had a sense of humor, at least, which was more than Tony could say for most of the high-up military types he'd met before. Rhodey excluded, of course.

"Even after years of research, of data mining, of our scientists doing experiments, we've never come close to what you created in a mere four months."

If possible the flattery raised the _warning, warning_ signal in Tony's head to an even higher pitch. Silently Tony started cataloging the projects he'd been working on in the past year, thinking about how long he'd worked on separate ones. G.I. Joe wanted to be asked what he meant, and Tony wasn't going to give him the satisfaction so easily. Eventually Tony drolled, "I've created a lot of things."

"You have, haven't you, Mr. Stark. This one, though, will be the best thing you've created for your country. After your Iron Man suit, of course."

"You want me to build you, what. A bomb? A jet? Another Iron Man?" These people were all so unoriginal.

G.I. Joe lifted a single eyebrow. "No, no. You've already made what we needed, and your presence here is simply the other half of your duty."

Knowing he was completely in the dark, Tony grinned the same grin he gave tabloids. "Well, never let it be said I'm not am extremely loyal American citizen."

Taking Tony's bullshit in stride, G.I. Joe smiled back. "I've been rude." He reached across the styrofoam table, black suit stark over the expanse of white. "Glenn Talbot."

"Glenn Talbot. Not Commander Talbot? Sergeant Talbot? Captain? Major?" Tony didn't bother with the handshake. He was a prisoner, and had been treated like one.

"Classified, I'm sorry." Talbot dropped his hand with no flicker of hard feelings. "But I assure you, though there were some hoops to jump through, this is all above-board. Your detention is unfortunately necessary."

"Well, Glenn." Tony bared a few more teeth, not caring that the paper outfit he wore gave him none of his usual gravitas. "You should know that whatever job you think you have right now, it won't last long once I'm out of this place. You didn't think you could kidnap me, Tony Stark, billionaire, and get away with it? If nothing else, half the senators in Washington want to find and fillet me personally."

"Your concern for what we'll get away with is touching, Mr. Stark."

A curl of annoyance lifted in Tony's chest. "What I want to know," he said slowly, "is why every time I'm kidnapped I'm either in or taken to a desert?"

And ahh, there it was: a slight widening of the eyes, a swallow. _Didn't think I knew that, did you, you bastard_ , thought Tony with uneasy delight. But he had — he'd smelled the desert through his mailbox, that waft of unforgiving nothingness, acres and acres of hot sand. Knowing that his captors were military or ex-military and at least partly headed by Americans, if Talbot was any indication, gave Tony a lot more to work with. It had been years since he'd had to think about the layout of American military bases, not to mention the covert ones. He'd already acquainted himself with SHIELD's hidden data on various locales, but there were so many of them, always shifting.

"I don't know why you think you're in a desert," said Talbot, shifting in his styrofoam chair as Tony continued thinking feverishly, going through options in his head.

"You're not exactly a trained interrogator, are you?" Tony asked with as much sarcasm as he could muster while half of his brain worked on a completely different problem.

Talbot scowled and inwardly Tony crowed. "This isn't an interrogation. We have everything we need, thanks to your penchant for carrying around information on your jewelry." The last few words were a bit quieter, as if Talbot wanted to stop talking but had already committed to making the mistake of giving Tony Stark more information.

And a mistake it was.

Like cascading tiles everything began to fall into place. It was slower than normal — his time in the cell had taken a toll — but the conversation had whetted the blade that was Tony's mind.

His "jewelry" meant the summoning wristlet for the Suit. It had extra storage for whatever plans he'd been fiddling with, an advanced USB of sorts, and that day — Tony swallowed. He'd been working on his gamma radiation work, the containment chamber plans. The indignant anger at Bruce was like a stone in his chest.

Talbot obviously knew what sort of research was on the wristlet; it seemed to have been half the reason that Tony had been kidnapped. It was the same research that had driven Bruce so far away, unwilling to listen to Tony's (more than adequate, in his opinion) explanations.

Fuck.

They wanted the Hulk.

They wanted Bruce.

"I've never been to New Mexico on pleasure before," Tony said after it had all straightened out in his brain. "This trip isn't exactly giving me the greatest first impression."

For a moment Talbot obviously vacillated between acceding to the information or not, but he eventually lifted a lip in bald derision at Tony. "You’re not in New Mexico. You think you're so smart."

"Incorrect," said Tony in faux-surprise. "I know I'm smart. Beyond smart. We all have our gifts, though, don't we? You've got to have a few, or else you wouldn't be running Gamma Base even after it was decommissioned. " There was no other base it could be; New Mexico had held the headquarters for the Hulk-elimination team that had eventually been dismantled. Or so Tony and SHIELD had thought.

"You — "

The door to the small room hissed open behind Tony, and Talbot immediately stood and saluted with a "Sir!"

Tony craned his head behind him, unable to see who it was.

Even blinded by positioning, Tony could see the blood in Talbot’s face drain, leaving a blanched white mein behind.

The door shut as unceremoniously as it had opened, a few footsteps telling Tony that the man had left. 

“Higher-ups not happy with our date?” Tony felt his throat constrict. He’d talked more in the past thirty minutes than he had in more than two weeks, by his estimation.

Instead of answering the question, Talbot pushed off his chair and stalked forward. 

“You’ll be asked to serve your country soon, Mr. Stark. I hope you’re ready to do your duty, when the time comes.” He strode to the door, and when he was completely out of Tony’s sight, added, “Enjoy your stay at Gamma Base, Mr. Stark.”

 _Well, fuck_ , thought Tony. Sometimes he wished he wasn't right all the time.

 

##

 

The beginning of the answer crystallized in front of Bruce's very eyes, the map Jarvis had thrown up against the wall bursting with color.

It would take days for the program to complete, and Bruce let it run without watching. It had been forty-eight hours since he'd begun tinkering, a handful of hours of sleep a night all he allowed himself, and he and Pepper were at their wit's end. The huge blank spot in their plans consumed Bruce's thoughts, filling him with a nervous energy that he only hoped he could calm. For after they discovered where Tony was, they still had to find and save him — and that was not a job for Pepper, for Stark's anemic security team, or for Bruce.

As he never looked at the news, Bruce had no idea how Pepper was keeping the press and media off the story that was Tony Stark: Billionaire Playboy cum Iron Man suddenly disappearing. Whatever magic she was working, he hoped it held a few more days. New York City would eat them alive if anyone truly started poking around. 

The positioning of Stark Tower offered a perfect view of Midtown, if you were high enough, and Bruce definitely was. New York had never been his favorite place. The air felt thick in a way even Calcutta's didn't, an uneasy mix of the slick with the rough. Too many people walked the streets, none of them neighbors, even the ones who lived right next to each other. With the Other Guy living underneath his skin and feeding off his anger, Bruce felt more out of place than ever. 

The constant reminder of Tony's "experiment" across the room didn't help.

Bruce turned from the window and the sprawling New York skyline.

Now was his chance to confront what had happened; to finally accept that he'd been, if not betrayed, used in a way he couldn't forgive.

Each step Bruce took towards the ten by ten door echoed in the emptiness. Deep breaths helped keep him grounded, and he told Jarvis to open the door.

It slid upwards soundlessly, as if it existed in a vacuum.

The room that lay exposed was small compared to the one Bruce had left. Circular metal mechanisms covered the wall like a strange wallpaper, save for a mirrored area about seven or eight feet up. Just like in a police station, it was one-way glass; there was an observational area on the other side. He walked around the heart of the room, his chest tight. 

He remembered the day that he'd learned what this was. Tony had created it with Bruce in mind; he'd obviously worked on it for months, easily as long as they'd known each other. Every day they'd spent in the lab together, in the back of his mind Tony must have been tinkering with this, constantly evaluating Bruce, thinking about how he could control the Other Guy.

Thankfully Bruce had figured out Tony's plan. Swallowing the fact that Tony had always planned on betraying him had proved to be incredibly difficult, and Bruce hadn't been able to do it when faced with the weight of memories that Stark Tower and New York City carried.

So Bruce had run. The horn of Africa, the Levant, the Philippines.

The small metal pieces decorating the wall were frigid under Bruce's hand. When turned on, in theory they would create bursts of gamma radiation powerful enough to incapacitate irradiated cells. He'd looked over the math and the science, that day he'd stumbled over the files on their shared computer, and the same sort of scientific experiment that had cursed Bruce with the Other Guy could keep Bruce pink and weak — in theory.

For years Bruce had searched for a way to control his alter ego. Science had failed him and so he had turned to regulating his emotions, expecting the worst, and when the worst inevitably did occur, burying his reactions as far inside himself as he could.

After Loki's attack and arrest, Bruce had let that surety waver and Tony threaded his way through all of Bruce's defenses like it was a game. The one time Bruce had thought that perhaps the worst wasn't coming, it had turned him inside-out. Once again he was an exposed nerve, only this time exposed as a human — none of the Other Guy's strength or resilience could protect him from all-too-human betrayal.

Bruce remembered the rushed conversation he’d had with Tony on the way out of New York City. 

_"Why are you calling me?" The subway exit burst upwards and Bruce fairly ran towards it, his shoes a hushed pitter-patter on the concrete._

_"Why am I calling you?" Sounding confused but in good humor, Tony laughed. "Pepper said you left the office with a fire under you. I was going to have an intern find you but this is faster."_

_"I know," confessed Bruce suddenly. "I know what you've been doing."_

_"You know what I've been doing." A note of wariness entered Tony's tone. "And what have I been doing? Besides telling Congress to find someone else to harass about clean-up bills for once."_

_"The room in the area we never use, the one you said was empty. It's not empty, and I saw the files, Tony, I know who you made that room for. What, were you going to shove me into it one day and turn it on? Poke me with the sharpest thing you could dig up and discover where the Other Guy's limits lay — where my limits lay?" Towards the end of the rant Bruce felt himself tense up, a wave going through him. He breathed through his nose, in-out in-out, watched a pigeon alight on a nearby newsstand, saw a red ribbon in a little girl's hair across the street._

_Tony didn't ask him if he was alright; Tony never asked him if he was alright. It was one of the things that let Bruce simply exist around Tony in a way he couldn't with anyone else._

_It had been so long since anyone who knew his secret had approached him without fear, and Bruce had allowed Tony's casual acceptance to disarm him._

_That had obviously been a mistake._

_"Where are you?" asked Tony, his good mood replaced by restrained urgency. It was strangely satisfying to know that the great Tony Stark was worried, even if he saw Bruce as a test subject. "I'll come get you myself. Whatever you're thinking you discovered, it wasn't for what you thought."_

_"The notes I found were pretty damn comprehensive," Bruce struck back. "The potential for enough gamma radiation that a single leak could damage any lives in the vicinity. Specifically targeted to inhibit irradiated cell multiplication. Tell me, do you keep a stable of nuclear friends around to experiment on? Or am I the only one who gets that pleasure?"_

_"First of all, there aren't leaks in my designs and you know it, so spare me the hand-wringing over New York City. I get enough of that from Congress," said Tony, almost spitting the words out. "And you're not an experiment, Bruce. I don't even know how you'd think that. That project was for you, yes, but — "_

_Unable to continue the conversation if he wanted to remain Bruce Banner, Bruce dropped the phone to the ground._

_It was the last time he would talk to Tony Stark for more than five months._

The click-click of heels on the floor shook Bruce from the memory.

"Anything?" Pepper asked.

The program beeped for attention, and Bruce swiveled his head around to face it. "As a matter of fact..."

There it was — and wasn't Bruce an idiot for not realizing who was behind this? Jarvis zoomed the map in on New Mexico, over which floated a dot of brilliant red that was Tony's unique radiation signature. Los Alamos, New Mexico — the exact same place the Other Guy had been wrought from anger and twisted science. Bruce knew for a fact that during his unfortunate tenure there, radiation shields had surrounded the area, built into the very walls of the location.

Which meant that they wanted Bruce to be able to find Tony.

Bruce turned to Pepper, closing his eyes once to gather himself. "I know who's holding Tony."

  


##

  


"Mr. Stark," said a man with greying hair but a sturdy physique.

Tony blinked, trying to orient himself. After his conversation with G.I. Joe doll look-alike Talbot he'd been thrown back into his tiny cell. The background drone of white noise remained, and the bright lights began to switch on and off randomly, leaving Stark either blind or shielding his eyes. It was never long enough for a nap, and followed no pattern Tony could discern without a clearer head. The constant changes left him even more muddled than before, and his thoughts jumped from idea to idea like uncontrolled electricity — a charge that Tony knew would eventually run out.

He needed sleep. It had been days (he had no idea how many) since Talbot’s brief and seemingly pointless discussion with him.

All he could think about was Bruce. What did these people have planned for him? What would Bruce walk into when he arrived here?

"Mr. Stark," the man said again. "Mr. Stark."

Running through the thousands of names he knew, Tony tried to place the man before him. He was military or ex-military, his pressed uniform adorned with medals and awards from far-off and long-ago battles. Tony had a passing familiarity with military honors given in Iraq and Afghanistan, but this man seemed to have nothing from the past decade. Retired, then?

"Who're you?" Tony asked, not bothering with trying to finagle anything: they gave him water, but not enough that he wasn't constantly thirsty. He didn't want to dry his mouth out anymore. "What do you want with Banner?"

"I am Thaddeus Ross." Tony noted he gave no rank or occupation and snorted. Ross looked unimpressed. "And we want the same thing for Dr. Banner that you wanted."

"I highly doubt that," Tony managed to get out. He licked his dry lips afterwards.

"You were designing a way to control him and his shifts into the creature known as the Hulk, were you not?"

Tony glared. A headache throbbed beneath his left ear like a gong. "I never wanted to control him. I'm horrible at keeping kittens, children, or houseplants; I always forget to water them."

"How funny," said Ross, completely unamused. "Because I have notes in my possession that say otherwise. That indicate that your designs are meant for Dr. Banner."

It was true that Tony had stress-tested for a being like the Hulk, but Ross made it sound like Tony'd planned to shut Bruce away — just like Bruce had assumed.

"Whatever you think you've built, I guarantee you that it won't work. I never keep a complete set of notes in any one place." Right after he'd said it, Tony winced internally. He'd just given away that he really had built something that might contain the Hulk.

"We know." Ross stared Tony down. "That's why we'd like to request your help in finishing our plans."

The words echoed in the tiny room.

Tony stared. Then he started to laugh.

"You," he eyed Ross mockingly, "You want me to help you? After you've shown me such wonderful hospitality?"

"A scientist is going to come in and speak with you. You will help her."

"Will I?" Even through the soupy haze that was his mind, Tony recognized the dangerous glimmer in Ross' eyes.

"You will. And in the process you'll help your country take one of its most dangerous potential enemies off the streets." Ross stood and ushered in a three person team, a woman with a clipboard and two men behind her: the brain and the brawn.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," started the woman.

 

Hours later Tony lay in his cell, the floor beneath him cooling his heated brow. Blood slid from his mouth and pooled in his clavicle. The lights were turned down slightly, no longer glaring, and the noise was completely switched off.

Right before he fell into a true sleep for the first time in weeks, Tony had time to pray that they didn't catch what he'd put into the information he'd coughed up.

Even when Tony didn't survive the blast, at least Bruce would be okay.

  


##

  


"You can't just fly to Las Alamos and knock on the door!" Pepper swept by Bruce in a flash of blonde hair and gumption. "Who knows what kind of weapons they have. And they said they want you, Bruce, meaning that they're ready for you. And all that entails." She waved a hand at him.

"I'll be fine, Pepper." Bruce rubbed at his forehead. Now that they knew just where Tony was, their complete lack of plan or backup was predictably biting them in the ass. The police were helpless, the federal government wasn't to be trusted, Director Fury was still completely MIA, and Hawkeye and Natasha were yet off the map.

"'Fine'?"

"Or some variation of the word," acceded Bruce.

"You know who they are, don't you." Pepper rounded on him. "If you know that, we can involve someone else. FBI, maybe."

"His name is Thaddeus Ross. He's a former General in the Army, but he's had it out for me — or, the Other Guy — for a long time. He _is_ the government, Pepper. How can we go to the FBI or the Army with that information?"

Pepper's face went white. "You think the Army is behind this?"

"I don't know." This time Bruce ran his hands through his hair, scraping his nails over his scalp in a calming gesture. "Fury said the program to find and capture the Other Guy had been scrapped. Maybe his intelligence was wrong; maybe it was buried under so many sheets of paperwork that the truth disappeared."

Silence came over their table. Between them Jarvis' projected map hung like a galaxy in the night sky, the red dot that represented Tony turning into a pulsing, lonely star.

"I can't ask you to do this alone," Pepper eventually said.

"You don't need to ask."

 

Pepper was right about one thing: Bruce couldn't fly on a commercial plane to Los Alamos.

As had been proven countless times, the farther into the world Bruce stepped, the more dangerous it was for everyone around him. That included flying on contained aircraft where his presence meant an incredible amount of danger for anyone else.

He had refused one of Tony's jets to begin with, but Pepper had pressed the option. The pilot and one assistant would receive hazard pay; no one would bother Bruce in any way. That was how he found himself headed for the Other Guy's birthplace.

But Bruce knew that despite his reassurances to Pepper, he was unprepared for what lay ahead.

He knew what this would come down to.

  


##

  


In the corner of his cell, Tony stretched.

However long he'd been allowed to sleep unimpeded in "thanks" for his help earlier, it hadn't been long enough. The spectre of exhaustion still haunted him, clinging to his bones and muscles, his brain and sluggish mind. It took too long for him to do mental calculus, and even a few pushups or sit-ups left him winded.

The first time his cell started heating up, Tony thought that perhaps he'd caught a fever. The sweats ruled his body, perspiration dripping off him to spatter onto the floor. That had slowly abated — but the temperature continued going down, until he began shivering, arms hugging his chest to keep his warmth close-by.

What more could they want from him? Had they already discovered his lies?

No one came to interrogate him further, though, and eventually Tony realized that there was no way they meant to let him out of here alive.

That realization planted the first seed of doubt in Tony's mind. He'd been so sure that this was a government conspiracy, an example of overreaching security officers given the green-light to kidnap a private citizen for supposedly public gain. But what if it were vigilantes? If so, he was in even bigger trouble than he originally expected.

So was Bruce.

That they didn't have the full working containment field yet was no impediment: it could be recreated easily enough by a scientist with even half Tony’s brilliance, if the basics were there. It would take time, yes, but Tony was sure that he'd been held in their desert compound long enough for the bulk of that work to have been completed. The scientist who'd interviewed him had been competent and sharp, and Tony couldn't say for sure whether she had simply checked her own data against his or was relying fully on him to explain the functioning and science behind the field.

He highly doubted it was the latter, though.

When the guards came, Tony sneered purely from long practice.

They grabbed him, hauled him up, and dragged him down polished hallways to a different room. It was bigger, wider — fifteen feet high and twenty by twenty on the sides, he estimated.

That wasn't the only new development. Circular metal mechanisms speckled the sides of the walls, of the exact same design that he'd created during those four months with Bruce in mind. At first Tony had started working on the field with the thought to invite Bruce in on the project: what better way for Bruce to work at control than to have a safe place to let go? The containment shield would be that — or would have been, if Tony had but explained himself. Bruce’s control or lack thereof over the Hulk was an old argument between them by the time the project had been completed, and Tony had been waiting for the right time to bring it up.

He'd never expected Bruce to stumble on it and so greatly misunderstand.

The only good thing the room told him was that Bruce or the Avengers had to be near. What other reason would they have to put him inside a containment chamber meant for an irradiated creature?

Tony hoped they didn't turn the room on with him inside. Dying by a slow breakdown of molecular structure wasn't the way he wanted to go.

  


##

  


**Arrived,** read the text message Bruce sent to Pepper.

The Los Alamos Gamma Base compound spread out over more than three miles of desert far from any city center, a splash of unimaginative human expansion on the natural landscape. A road ran through the desert towards it, a black tarmac that shimmered in the heat and blazed underneath Bruce raggedy shoes. His one water bottle was long-dry, and Bruce swallowed down his own saliva.

Tony was somewhere in there.

The air conditioner worked hard but Bruce still felt hot, no help for the sun streaming through his windshield.

Once he eventually entered Gamma Base, he had some idea of what would happen. Whoever was running this operation obviously wanted the Other Guy's presence. They'd try to draw the monster out with bullets and rocket launchers, stir up ire and annoyance at the pain. Beyond that Bruce was lost; the Other Guy could not be contained, even by SHIELD. Of all the people on the planet, only Tony had come up with a plan that would conceivably hold Bruce's splendid alter ego.

And Tony was somewhere in there.

Like a stone off a mountain, Bruce's stomach tumbled downwards. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it earlier. It seemed so obvious, now, a sudden kidnapping of a very important man, all the other Avengers preoccupied. Bruce had never even thought to ask Pepper how Tony had been taken.

Was Tony complicit in this?

With a dry swallow, Bruce breathed in and out. It didn't matter, now. He was here, close to Gamma Bay, where it had all started for him. Bruce had long ago given up hope for any ending, but if he did have one, it was only fitting that it might happen here.

He drove on.

Six miles away from Gamma Base the barriers started, becoming more elaborate and solid with each mile. The first was a chain-link fence no different than the ones surrounding schools or houses. Driving the Prius that Pepper had ensured was waiting for him, Bruce ignored the requisite No Trespassing: Government Property sign and barrelled through, the tines of the fence whipping apart beneath his tires as he did. From there he went through the wooden fence, paying no mind to the small robotic arm that must have lifted it remotely. It crunched on his bumper.

Between mile three and four, Bruce got a call.

"Are you in yet?" An anxious Pepper asked.

"It's only been ten minutes since I confirmed I was here. Give me a chance."

"Thank god," she said. "Because you need to wait."

"What? Why?" As he spoke Bruce came upon the first concrete wall, a looming ten foot tall structure. Where the road ran into it there was a thick metal gate and a small, currently unmanned station. He stopped. There was no way his Prius would be able to shove that open.

"They're back," rushed out Pepper. "Clint and Natasha. I told them everything and they're on their way right now."

"I —," Bruce rubbed at his eyes. That meant that, if this had been planned by Tony, at least Pepper hadn't been in on it. Maybe. Bruce didn't even know, anymore.

"They'll be there in two hours. Wait, alright?"

Bruce sighed. "Alright," he answered, after he'd given the metal gate before him a thorough looking over. He could get angry and stomp through, but Bruce knew he'd need all of his faculties around him for whatever lay inside those walls.

"Good," Pepper said, obviously relieved. "They have your number and your tracking signal. Be _careful_ , Bruce."

"I will be."

"And please — bring him back to me." In the middle of the sentence Pepper's voice shuddered. It was the first time she'd even shown a hint of crying, and for a moment Bruce wondered just who Pepper was waiting for. Tony the partner? Tony the CEO? Tony the boyfriend? For Tony's sake, Bruce hoped it was the latter. 

Bruce swallowed. "I will."

Pepper hung up and Bruce rubbed at his face, wishing he'd brought more water. 

A shrill shriek from in front of him pushed all thoughts of thirst to the back of his mind. Eyes snapping open, Bruce stared ahead at the opening gate. He'd done nothing — which meant it was moving on impetus from the inside.

The slow reveal gave Bruce plenty of time to consider his options. He could gun his car backwards and head for the Los Alamos, wait for Hawkeye and Natasha. He could lance the constant, bubbling anger inside of him and let the Other Guy flow out. Or he could sit in his little Prius, hands in his lap, calm.

Bruce chose the third option.

Three Humvees and one tank greeted him. Rocket launchers were strapped to the top of the Humvees, and the tank had its barrel aimed squarely at Bruce's car.

 _Some people really never learn_ , thought Bruce.

Just the man he'd expected jumped from the nearest Humvee, regulation Army boots digging into the dry, caked ground and throwing dust up in his wake.

"Dr. Banner," said General Ross when he was right outside Bruce's window. "If you'd come with me. I think we have a few issues to discuss."

 

They didn't bother handcuffing him. They didn't even bother moving his Prius — it was simply left in the middle of the tar road, door hanging open, abandoned. 

It didn't really speak to a bright future.

The last two miles sped by in the Humvees. The constant dust from the vehicle leading their contingent meant that Bruce only saw his surroundings in flashes, old memories from an old life shimmering like deceptive oases over the sand. Here was where he'd lost his chance at humanity so many years ago — where the Other Guy had been birthed, shredding Bruce in the process.

As they wound closer to Gamma Base, the metal hangars for equipment jutted from the packed ground in a glint of light like mirrors turned towards the sun. Bruce couldn't look straight at any one place for long, but even so he noticed the speckled rust over the corrugated sheets of iron that lay in seemingly random heaps, the vehicles left in awkward positions that blocked routes, all models more than a decade old. 

And there were no people. 

No platoons marched up and down the main drag, no officers hurried from this building to that. It was a ghost town compared to what Bruce half-remembered, and uneasiness curled up in his belly.

Every second he debated giving himself over to the Other Guy. They passed the last mile marker to the central base; should he do it now? They passed the last welcoming post; should he do it now? They parked and hustled Bruce into the main building; should he?

He held back only because he didn't know where the General was holding Tony, and spared a moment to wish that the power of SHIELD was behind him. SHIELD would have nurses and doctors who could stabilize Tony....

Once they'd reached the inside of the main facility Bruce looked around. There were only a few staff, none wearing a coherent uniform. Strange.

"Dr. Banner," said one of the guards who'd been riding with him, constantly checking over his shoulder at Bruce as if he expected Bruce to grow an extra head. Bruce didn't know his name, but he recognized the man's wiry build. "I'm Glenn Talbot. We've met before — I was at Gamma Base before you were the Hulk."

Bruce smiled as mild-manneredly as he could. "I'm not him."

"Uh-huh." Talbot looked him over with a cocked eyebrow. A lot of attitude for the military. "I'm glad to meet you again. And glad you could make it." He offered a smile that completely belied the fact that he'd helped kidnap a man to coerce Bruce into showing up.

This was hardly what a rescue operation was supposed to look like.

Bruce barely refrained from scoffing. "I came for Stark. That's all."

"Mr. Stark is in one of our holding cells. He was very helpful, right up until he tried to sneak an explosion into some programming."

"Sounds like him," said Bruce dully, following Talbot down the sterile hallways. His innate sense of direction told him they were heading for the center of the compound, right where the football field-sized main room branched off into separate large spaces. Three men shadowed them, keeping five paces back from Bruce at all times. Bruce wondered what they hoped to accomplish, should the Other Guy decide to tear them apart. 

As expected they entered the largest area and went straight to the back, their strides echoing in the totally empty warehouse-like room. 

"Not much activity going on here," noted Bruce.

Talbot grunted. "Don't worry about that," he said, a little sharper than Bruce expected. 

Soon enough their destination became clear: a huge metal door vaguely reminiscent of one at Stark Tower. His hands clenched into thoughtless fists.

With no announcement, Talbot went to the human-sized door nearby. Unlike Stark Tower, this one had a small window cut into it.

He looked in and beckoned to Bruce. 

Heart thudding in his ears, Bruce approached the door.

 

##

 

Tony blinked, then winced.

They'd been giving him less water, lately, and he could sense it in his skin, his muscles, his eyes. It felt like grains of sand were stuck under his eyelids, scratching at the vulnerable cornea. Technically it was simply his own cells, dried out and aggravating him, but that didn't stop Tony from wiping at his face. He licked his lips and remembered they were split, cracked lower lip shedding, the dehydration noticeable in every part of his body. 

In the corner of the room, Tony braced himself for the shakes. 

He hadn't always been a survivor. 

It was a nice narrative to tell papers, to have TIME magazine buy into when they named him Person of the Year. Everyone knew that Tony had triumphed without his father's emotional support through sheer willpower; that Tony had blasted through school and his own studies on the strength of his mind, flogging naysayers with pure grit. 

But none of that was true. 

He'd been a rich brat — indeed, for more than thirty years he'd been a child, no better than a teenager with limitless power and a diamond of a mind. Other people existed for his pleasure: they slept with him, they served him, and they died at his hands. That boy Tony had been had never faced a challenge he couldn't buy off or outthink — the single reason he hadn't folded under the pressure in that cave years ago was because he hadn't been able to.  
If he'd have tried to soothe his pride or lick his wounds, they would have torn out his tongue.

And so the first heart Tony ever earned, Yinsen and he had created in that cave. That was when he became a survivor. It was when he first realized what it meant to _never give up_. 

The split between the boy and the man had not been clean cut. The capricious boy still lived in Tony, still was Tony, to a certain extent — nothing like the cleave between Bruce and the Hulk. Yet Tony thought that perhaps he understood Bruce more than the average person; that Tony's own struggle for identity and value in the face of the sheer consequence and terror that he had wrought gave him some sort of insight.

It was why he had designed the prototype of the room he was currently inhabiting. Low light from glow lamps flickered off the flat metal circles, which were hard under Tony's head where he laid against the wall, a constant reminder of the room’s intended purpose.

Tony half-sighed then half-yawned. There was no music piped into this room, the lights never changed intensity, and the temperature stayed at a constant. It seemed as if they'd stopped the torture only to replace it with increasing negligence, water his only sustenance for too long. Exhaustion sat on his shoulders like a vulture waiting for a final weakness, waiting for Tony to fall into a deep sleep. 

He fought. He hadn't always been a survivor, but now, he promised himself, he would be. After aliens and evil men, surely thirst and hunger could be overcome. But he could not buy or think his way out. 

There was only survival.

Unwilling to sleep, Tony drifted in memory, flashes coming and going. 

The science wing of SHIELD's floating fortress, the first real conversation he and Bruce ever had. 

_"Or you'll be suiting up with the rest of us," Tony said, flicking his eyes towards Bruce's figure._

_"Ah, you see. I don't get a suit of armor. I'm exposed. Like a nerve. It's a nightmare."_

Pepper, Bruce, and he at Stark headquarters, staring down at the phone on Pepper's wide maple desk. 

_"Where are they?" Pepper asked, bewildered. The phone had rung for a full minute before switching over to a "this line is disconnected" message._

_"The one time you want to talk to Fury he disappears." Tony snorted. "Spies."_

_"That's Director Fury, Natasha, Hawkeye gone. What about the Captain?" Bruce frowned._

_"Mr. Freeze?" Tony asked. "He's being bled dry by the promotional wing of the White House, last I heard. I thought SHIELD was going to set him up with a place and some reintegration help, but." Tony waved at the phone, indicating the dozen numbers they'd tried. Even the lowliest person on SHIELD's hierarchy had no working number. "Obviously that fell through."_

A month later in Stark Tower, the rubble cleared away but the walls not completely patched over yet, Bruce and Tony had poured over the plans for what Tony had taken to calling "Candyland" — every piece of scientific equipment anyone could want in one place.

_"It's almost finished." Bruce gestured down at the list of things Tony had ordered. "It'll look great when it's done, I'm sure."_

_"You'll be able to see it for yourself in another week." Tony turned from where he'd been guiding Jarvis' repairs of the Iron Man suit. Bruce was conspicuously silent. "Or is this you saying you're leaving?"_

_"It's for the best," argued Bruce, as if Tony had said otherwise._

_"You know, I actually don't think it is."_

_"I'm a danger to everyone in the building — in the City."_

_"Are you? That's what you believe?" Tony completely abandoned his workstation and walked over to Bruce._

_"You've seen what he can do." Bruce looked down at his hands. The Other Guy — yeah, Tony had seen him._

_"He's not you," said Tony, watching Bruce carefully. He had a plan that he wanted to share: something that would hold Bruce, keep the Other Guy on lockdown while Bruce worked through his issues or experimented with mental and emotional triggers. A containment chamber. "And from what I've seen, I think you can learn to control it."_

_"I can't," said Bruce, voice rising as it so rarely did._

_"Well I think you should try. You should let me help you." Tony leaned forward and pushed at Bruce's shoulder. It wasn't gentle, but a precursor to a fight. Bruce's elbow slammed into the harsh edge of the metal table and he hissed in pain._

_"That's not a good idea, Tony," he said, rage swirling in his eyes abruptly._

_"I never have good ideas," Tony responded blithely. "I have great ideas." He pushed Bruce again._

_"Stop it!" Instead of running away, Bruce got up in Tony's face, his glasses flashing in the harsh light that filled the massive room._

_"You think pretending to get angry will scare me out of helping you?" With no warning Tony stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. If Bruce had truly been close to changing into the Other Guy, he would have run from Tony as fast as he could have. It was silent for a moment, and Tony watched the fabricated fury drain out of Bruce's eyes. Surely he was still angry, deep down, like he always was. But that particular festering wound wasn't so easily lanced, and Tony knew it._

_"Obviously not." Bruce lifted his head, eyes world-weary. Scared. "So I'll ask, then. Stop, Tony. I'll stay here, for a while. Help where I can. But I don't need you to try to find a way for me to — to exist. Stick to the possible."_

_Tony flipped a wrench, catching it one-handed. "Fine. I can do that."_

_'Stick to the possible.' Bruce should have known better than to challenge him._

Blinking, Tony awoke from his memories to footsteps and voices on the other side of the door. He tried to get up but his hand slid out from beneath him, his head cracking onto the wall. He moaned at the bright pain that bloomed in his head. 

Then the window into his cell opened. 

 

##

 

It took Bruce a moment to find what he was looking for.

The window was small, a foot by a foot or so, and the shaft of light from the outside barely illuminated the area enough for Bruce to see by. Frantically Bruce glanced around the surprisingly large room, eyes catching on the glittering walls with a far-off sense of dread — this room was meant for him and the Other Guy, not Tony. Eventually they alighted on the corner, where a body was collapsed in a pile, limbs akimbo and head propped on the wall.

"Tony," said Bruce loudly, "Tony!" 

In the corner Tony moaned dryly once. His eyes flickered open, unseeing, and he made no more movements. 

"Let him out." Taking a deep breath, Bruce turned on his heel to stare at Talbot and the three men behind him. "Get Tony out of there."

As if he hadn't heard Bruce's demand, Talbot asked, "Do you know what that room is for?" 

"Not for Tony," snapped Bruce. Then he tried to calm down. _Breathe_ , he commanded himself. _Or you'll be no good to anyone._

"Well, it works as well as anything else for holding a normal person. But its specialized purpose; surely you saw Stark's plans?"

Bruce bit his lip. "I saw them."

"Then you know why you're here."

"Me for him," said Bruce, summing up what he'd guessed. 

"Yes. You're welcome to go in. Speak to him."

"If I go in there, I won't come out."

"Maybe." Talbot shrugged, his uniform pulling on his shoulders. "Maybe not. That's up to you, Dr. Banner. We knew that Stark would refuse to share his plans and that you'd refuse to come in peaceably, so unfortunately this all was necessary. But it all can end today. Now."

Bruce considered his options. It was patently obvious that Tony needed immediate care — even from outside the cell Bruce could see the waxy quality of Tony's skin, the way his breaths stuttered from his chest. 

Silence held.

“I see you need help with the decision,” said Talbot, and he went forward to open the door. “Feel free to follow me if you’d like to help Mr. Stark.”

Bruce watched as Talbot stepped into the room confidently and strode to Tony’s prone body, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him to the center of the room. Tony’s arms fell to the ground like dead things, the smack of skin on the concrete floor sickening.

If Bruce went in there and they turned on the containment chamber, he’d be stuck in his harmless human form, Tony trapped with him, no nurse or doctor to treat him. If Bruce didn’t go — 

"You have a doctorate or three. How much do you know about treating wounds, Dr. Banner?" From a side holster that Bruce had barely noticed, Talbot pulled a sleek black gun on Tony. Bruce didn't have to be a surgeon to know where a human pair of lungs lay, to know that if Talbot shot now, the bullet would puncture Tony's lungs.

"Don't do that," warned Bruce. His voice was steady; it was the same voice he'd spoken to Natasha with, all those months ago when she'd found him in Calcutta. He was warning himself as much as he was warning Talbot. _Keep it under control_ , Bruce thought. "You really don't want to do that."

"And why not?" Talbot grinned. "You must know what this room is, since you lived with Stark before. We've been trying to catch you for years, but now even the government is protecting you. Helping you hide, even after you've killed people, destroyed property." The last words came out almost as a hiss, Talbot's grin dropping from his face. 

"That's why I keep away from people," said Bruce, edging around, trying to figure out what to do. The Other Guy would make short work of the guards behind him, but he'd never be able to treat a gun wound, and there was no one else there, yet.

It was up to Bruce alone to save Tony. 

"Fuck — you," a voice interrupted Bruce's thoughts of martyrdom. It was Tony, eyes blearily pried open, head canted upwards defiantly even as he laid sprawled out on the ground.

Talbot kicked Tony straight in the ribs, his gun never wavering as he did so. Tony crumpled from where he'd slowly been rising to his elbows, face twisting in pain and spittle flying from his open mouth to the floor from the sheer force.

"Stop," commanded Bruce, stepping one last time forward, six or seven paces away from the open door. Far enough away that the Other Guy could come out to stop the three guards from pushing him inside. Even so he felt the change ripple underneath him, deep breath barely enough to control it, the wound festering inside of him — that constant anger that begged to be lanced was being fed anew with each of Tony's labored breaths. 

"As much as it's been interesting to get to know your mild-mannered side, the time's come. You can come in here and help Stark recover from his bullet wound," with no countdown or fanfare, Talbot shot Tony right through the shoulder, carrying through on his threat, “Or you can stay out there. Your choice, Banner.”

And what kind of choice was that? 

The gunshot hadn’t even finished reverberating before Bruce was inside the room, jostling past Talbot to Tony’s body, his hands fluttering uselessly over Tony’s shoulder. The only good thing was that it looked like a high shot: not in the lungs but through the muscle of Tony’s upper body. Still, close up Tony looked even worse than Bruce had anticipated: his lips looked shriveled on his face, white, dead cells covering them, and the dehydration made his skin appear almost puckered in places. 

“Tony!” Bruce tore at Tony’s paper shirt, the material shredding under his fingers. The blood soaked Bruce’s hands, followed a flash of memory: his time as a doctor treating basic wounds in India, how he needed to stay calm, to keep his nimble fingers to properly treat this wound — and just when Bruce thought he was okay, that he’d be able to apply pressure and keep Tony stabilized, he glanced at Tony’s face, pain obvious on his features, his eyes fluttering open and closed sickly.

Someone had hurt Tony. And that was it: he felt the Other Guy break free as suddenly as he ever had, the rage, the festering wound that Bruce tried to keep a bandaid on bursting at once. 

He stumbled away from Tony’s groggy body, the power and implacable anger coming over him, the wet blood on his hands driving his rage. If the Other Guy was emerging, it meant they hadn’t turned on the room yet — it meant he had a chance to break free. 

“Turn it on!” Even with the door closed, Bruce heard the yelling from the other side of the chamber, Talbot’s voice barking quick orders — and then the Hulk pushed his way out of Bruce’s psyche. “Turn it on, now!”

Hulk heard the voice. It was a voice he didn’t like; bad, hurtful. He roared in the tiny room and swiped at the wall that kept him from crushing the bad voice. Under his giant fist the metal of the door bent. Such a strong door. 

But not as strong as Hulk. Again Hulk hit it. He had to be free, to help the good man — Tony. Tony, the good man. 

The thought of his friend made Hulk turn to the floor, where Tony lay out.

Tony’s hand reached up, beckoning Hulk forward. “Bruce, goddamnit, — ”

Hulk heard the words, but he was not Bruce. He turned back to strike again and the door almost collapsed, this time. A strange humming filled the air. 

“Hulk! Hulk, come here!” The good man was screaming from the ground, waving Hulk over. His face was twisted in panic, and Hulk paused. The good man Tony wanted him. Lumbering over, Hulk bent down until their faces were only a foot apart. 

“Bomb,” said the good man, voice almost a whisper, rough and scratchy. “Bomb. Boom! A bomb, right now!”

The shrill noise from the walls got even louder, too loud for Hulk to hear words. He bent over the good man, his huge green body covering the small human one, close enough that Hulk could feel breath against his ears.

“Hold on!” the good man shouted, right before the world exploded.

 

 

##

 

 

“Put ‘the dimples in Banner’s asscheeks’ on that long list of things I didn’t need to know about.”

“I don’t know,” came an amused voice that Bruce knew — Natasha, that was it. “It looks pretty firm.”

“This is not what I signed back up for,” the same man complained. 

Bruce slowly — oh so slowly — got his arms underneath his body and pushed up off the blazing hot concrete slab below. He wanted pants, but — Tony had been beneath the Other Guy, shielded. Where was he? 

“Tony?” asked Bruce, clearing his throat of dust and debris.

“Fine,” answered Natasha, her boots coming into Bruce’s hazy view. “We moved and stabilized him twenty minutes ago.”

“Left you here to tan while we did,” said the man. Bruce guessed it was Hawkeye, and a quick glance up towards the pounding sun confirmed his suspicions. Suddenly Bruce realized that he was no longer in a building, anymore, for there _was_ no building: only a blast radius that stretched farther than Bruce could see.

“Anybody have a pair of pants?” he asked morosely.

“Here you go, Banner.” A pair of pants dropped next to his head and Natasha laughed. “Can’t believe you and Stark survived that.”

“What happened?” asked Hawkeye. It was obvious neither one cared for Bruce’s modesty, but still Bruce turned around while he pulled up the sweatpants. 

“I think Tony hid a self-detonation code in the information he gave them. Talbot — the guy holding him — said they’d found it, but there must have been more than one.”

“Sounds like Tony,” Natasha noted. Pants helping him feel more civilized, Bruce nodded.

“Let’s get back to the jet.” Hawkeye gestured to the east. “Time to head home.”

 

The flight was only two hours from New Mexico to New York, their modified engines making a mockery of federal aviation regulations. From his position in the back of the cockpit, Bruce looked over Tony, keeping an eye on the drip running into his newly-skinny arm. 

Natasha joined him. Her hair now was even shorter than before, a tight flame of red on her head, and she wore a uniform that Bruce didn’t recognize.

“Fury’s back,” she announced, eyes sliding over Bruce’s face. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“Back from?” Bruce didn’t know if he cared, but Tony would want the information. Bruce would take notes for him.

“Who knows exactly, but the Council wasn’t happy with him after our the showdown with Loki. They uprooted SHIELD and did a rank purge. Clint and I got out just in time.”

At that Bruce lifted his head. “I thought Clint....” Bruce waved at his head to indicate problems.

“Yeah.” Natasha nodded sharply once. “But that wasn’t why we had to disappear. The Captain’s been working all these months to get SHIELD returned to American soil. Don’t know what he pulled, but we’re back in the game.”

“That makes sense,” said Bruce slowly. “He was missing from the picture for a while, there.”

“Also....we’re pretty sure General Ross got away.”

Bruce rubbed at his forehead. “That’s alright.”

“It was an off-the-books operation for the government, probably a replacement for SHIELD. The Captain is strong-arming them into ending it now.”

In the years Bruce had known General Ross, _ending_ anything hadn’t been his speciality. Bruce shook his head. “You should probably wait for Tony to wake up to tell him this.”

Natasha looked at him strangely. “Why? I can tell him separately later. You need to know this too.”

Bruce opened his mouth to explain that he was leaving, that he couldn’t stay, but a moan interrupted him. 

“You’re staying,” croaked Tony from him makeshift bed, eyes bloodshot and narrowed. “Natasha, tell Bruce he’s staying. Final decision.”

“You heard him.” Natasha lifted an amused eyebrow. “Looks like you’re staying.”

Bruce looked between the two of them, Natasha’s non judgemental eyes and Tony’s shaking hands.

“Looks like I’m staying,” he echoed.

 

##

 

“I shouldn’t have built it.” The voice rang in the large space, the awkward shuffle of feet accompanying it. Bruce turned to see Tony limp into the room. “Or I should have told you.”

“I wouldn’t have taken it well,” admitted Bruce. He was self-aware enough to know that even the slightest hint of betrayal from a friend was enough to send him scrabbling for a new rock to hide under. 

“And how — ,” Tony coughed, hand over his mouth. “ — how would you take it now?”

The months Bruce had been on the run, he’d imagined what Tony wanted to use him for. He’d never come to any real conclusions; the Other Guy was only useful when something needed to be destroyed, and in a containment chamber that restricted his dubious abilities, there wasn’t much left. That the room was meant as a prison seemed the only logical answer. 

Now Bruce saw another option. 

“The reflectors would keep me _me_?”

“No matter what,” Tony replied in a hoarse voice but with a confident tone. “You could get as mad as you like. Like the rest of us.”

Bruce had forgotten what it felt like to let go, to scream his anger out with his human voice, to feel tears track down his face at the injustices he’d faced and the injustices he’d unknowingly committed. No matter all his reading on the subject, Bruce was no psychologist. He had no idea whether indulging his rage like that would be healthy or not. 

But for today, he didn’t care. 

He realized, then, just how big Tony’s gift to him really was — and what a big misstep it had been to leave before he knew all of the facts, before Tony could prove himself. A scientist should endeavor to never make the same mistake twice. 

And who was Bruce if not a man of science?

“Okay,” Bruce said. “Okay.”

  


  


  


 

  



End file.
